would never kiss him back. “So who do I have to beat up for lying to my baby?” Ronan asked, moving back to his side of the bed.
“That’s the problem,” Michael answered. “I’m not sure.”
Lying on his side, Ronan cradled his head in the palm of his hand, aware that it made his bicep bulge even larger. “Can you narrow down the field of suspects to perhaps a handful?”
Tossing the heavy flannel covers off of him, Michael sat crossed-legged on the bed, his right foot dangerously close to Ronan’s mouth. It was all Ronan could do not to bend over and playfully bite one of his toes. “It’s either Jean-Paul or my father.”
“Hmm, that bites,” Ronan said with a smirk, but Michael didn’t catch the joke.
“Why do you say that?”
Rolling onto his back, Ronan traced the cleft of his chest and then the thick outline of his pecs with his index fingers. Just because Michael wasn’t going to touch him didn’t mean he couldn’t. “I really don’t fancy beating up your dad.”
Still oblivious to Ronan’s flirting, Michael continued questioning him. “How can you be so sure my father’s the liar?”
Moving his fingers down to his taut stomach muscles, Ronan wondered how long he’d have to multitask before Michael joined in. “What reason would his driver have to lie to you? He hardly knows you,” he explained. “And what’s this big lie about anyway?”
Shifting his weight, Michael flipped around and lay on his back. Well, Ronan thought, that’s a little progress. But Michael still wasn’t done talking. “Jeremiah,” he replied. “I don’t know why it really bothers me, but Jean-Paul said Jeremiah got a new job, and then my father told me he left because of a family emergency.” Swinging his legs up and raising his hands at the same time, Michael grabbed on to the soles of his feet. Ronan wasn’t sure if he was stretching his muscles or teasing him. “You know why I think I care so much?” Michael asked, but spoke again before Ronan could respond. “It ticks me off that they just can’t admit Alistair and Jeremiah ran off together.”
Not that again. “Maybe they don’t know about the two of them?”
Letting his arms and legs flop onto the bed, Michael stared up at the ceiling. “Or maybe, since my father’s homophobic, he can’t admit that two men might fall in love and run away together. Which is something he better get used to,” Michael said. “Because newsflash, his kid’s a homo too.”
Moving suddenly, Ronan rolled over onto his stomach, resting his body on his elbows, his eyes widening like a child’s. “You are?”
Laughing, Michael slapped Ronan’s shoulder. “Shut up!” The touch and the laughter broke the spell and Michael finally noticed how big Ronan’s arms looked.
That’s better, Ronan thought. At last he’s looking at me the way he’s supposed to. “And you’re a pretty hot homo too.”
Feeling bashful and passionate at the same time was such a wonderful feeling. “You think so?” Michael asked, knowing full well how Ronan would reply. This time when he was kissed, Michael felt it, felt the softness, the wanting, and he kissed back, pleasing Ronan immeasurably. How he ached for this connection, how he strived every day to keep it alive. It was the reason his race existed. After a few minutes, he could feel the warmth between them grow, the exchange of kisses become more intense, but Ronan didn’t want Michael to think that every kiss needed to lead to sex.
Sitting up, Ronan turned Michael so his back was against his chest. He extended his legs, his toes sliding down Michael’s thighs, his calves, until their bare feet were rubbing against each other. Snuggling into Ronan, Michael let his body melt, let his head rest against Ronan’s chest and listen to the beat, beat, beat of his heart. Both boys were at peace, amazed at how good it felt to be held. Stroking Ronan’s arm, Michael closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensory overload. Ronan’s muscles always felt stronger after a feeding, and The Well’s scent still clung to their bodies, fresh, fragrant, like early morning rain. Dreamily he spoke. “I think he’s the reason my mother took me to Weeping Water.”
Caressing the veins of Michael’s hand and in between each finger where only this morning there was webbing, Ronan whispered, “Who?”
“My father,” Michael replied, “She wanted to keep us safe. I’m not sure why, but I think she wanted to protect me from him.”
Upon hearing that word, Ronan froze, just for a second and not long enough for Michael to notice. “What do you mean protect you?”
Michael interlocked his fingers with Ronan’s, reveling in the strength of his boyfriend’s grip. “I think he was really mean to her, maybe to us even, and she was afraid,” Michael quietly admitted, wishing the words weren’t true. “She used to say he was evil.”
This time Michael did notice that Ronan’s hand flinched within his. “Evil?” he asked.
Nodding, Michael was aware that the conversation was getting a bit too solemn, so he tried to lighten the tone. “I thought she was just crazy, which, you know, she was, but still . . .”
Evil, protect, these were Lochlan’s words, the same words he used when he was talking about Alistair. Do something, change the subject. Ronan kissed Michael’s temple, holding his lips there longer than expected. “She was a good mother,” he said, his voice hushed. “You should know that.” Michael nodded, breathing in slowly, deeply. “Mothers protect children,” Ronan added knowingly. “And in turn children protect their mothers.”
Facing Ronan to look into his kind, blue eyes, Michael saw that they were also sad. “And where does that leave their fathers?”
Suddenly the room was consumed with flames and the crackling of fire. Ronan could hear voices shouting, chanting, invading his ears. No, this isn’t real, this isn’t happening again. Something like that will never happen again. “That depends on the father, I guess.”
Michael could sense there was something upsetting Ronan. His smile had returned, but the look of sadness only deepened. “You okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” Ronan forced the pain of the past to lift from his face. “Just thinking about tomorrow, big day and all.”
His face brightening, Michael pounced on top of Ronan and exclaimed, “That’s right, how could I forget?!”
Looking up at Michael, his blond hair falling into his face, Ronan beamed. “I don’t know. How could you forget such an important day?”
“I have my first driving lesson tomorrow,” Michael squealed.
That’s okay, Ronan thought. It’s not a big deal that he didn’t remember. “Yes, well, it should be all that,” he said. “I never bothered going for mine, didn’t really see the purpose.”
Michael bent his arms and pressed his elbows into Ronan’s chest so their faces were mere inches apart. “Don’t say another word. Ciaran’s already pointed out that I don’t need a car to travel, but I don’t care, I really want my license.”
“And so you should have one,” Ronan said, smiling to hide his disappointment. “You should have whatever you want.”
Feeling the passion rumble in his stomach, Michael kissed Ronan and spoke at the same time. “You can have whatever you want too you know.” Even though Ronan knew that the comment was sincere, right now he knew there was no chance of getting his wish.
The next day, however, one of Michael’s wishes was about to come true. The day had dragged on, class after lecture after pop quiz, and all he could think about was his driving lesson. Yes, it was absurd; yes, for a vampire, human transportation was unnecessary, but yes, he was as excited as any typical mortal sixteen-year- old. And just as confused.
“What the hell are you doing?” Blakeley asked. Car keys in hand, Michael paused in front of the driver’s side door of the familiar-looking Honda Civic, realizing too late that in this British model, the driver’s side door was on the opposite side. “You’re not in the States anymore, Howard,” Blakeley informed him. “It’s time you learned to drive on the right side of the road.”
Shrugging off his mistake, Michael walked around the front of the car to the right side, the driver’s side, and got in. And then the excitement he had been feeling all day long seeped out of his pores and was replaced with anxiety. He had been behind the wheel of a car before, but that was back home, and the wheel on his
